


Semantics

by Chai_Teafling



Series: Gender Musings [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Sylvan Language, gender theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chai_Teafling/pseuds/Chai_Teafling
Summary: “Hey, mind if I sit for a minute?”“Not at all, Mister Clay,” said Caleb. He sat up a bit straighter and slid his book to one side. “Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?”“Yeah, something like that,” Caduceus rumbled, his voice low. “I was wondering if you could talk to me a bit about... language. You see, I haven’t had to speak Common much until recently, and I’m having trouble with some parts. I know that it isn’t your first language, but since you learned it in a more formal setting, maybe you would be the best suited to help me. If you want to talk about someone who isn’t present, you have to use a word for them sometimes. Instead of their name. How do you know which one to use?”Common isn't Caduceus' first language, and he's having trouble adapting to using it all the time. He comes to Caleb with a seemingly simple question about semantics that is a lot harder to answer than Caleb expected.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Caleb Widogast
Series: Gender Musings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185782
Comments: 18
Kudos: 148





	Semantics

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first piece of creative writing that I had written in over 10 years, and the response was overwhelming. I really enjoy this piece but my lack of writing experience definitely showed, so I've rewritten it somewhat to make it flow better. Originally posted 27 October 2020, rewritten 27 February 2020.
> 
> Inspired by the thought that Finnish would be a good analogue for the Sylvan language.

Caleb sat with his back to the wall in the corner of the inn common room, back aching from having been hunched over a book for so many hours. He stretched and yawned, relieving some of the tension in his shoulders, and scanned the room. It seemed that while he had been entranced in the pages of a tome on the history of the Marrow Valley, the tavern had closed for the night and most of its patrons had made their way to their rooms or their homes. At a table near the stairs sat a few of his companions: Beauregard, a seasoned drinker; Nott, dozing with flask in hand, and the newest member of their group, Caduceus.

Beau said something, jabbing her thumb toward the sleeping figure at her side, then lifting her chin towards the stairs. As she picked up the sleeping Nott and headed towards their rooms, Caleb reflected on how much closer the two had grown in the recent weeks. Surviving an ordeal like the Iron Shepherds will have that effect on a group, he thought. It was nice to see Nott learning to trust people other than himself, and while he didn’t originally think that Beauregard was capable of softness, he was glad to see her taking care of his friend.

Caduceus sipped at a mug, and Caleb felt a pang of guilt. They had all but ripped the firbolg from his home and everything with which he was comfortable, and in places such as this he was clearly an awkward fit. They had quickly discovered that he did not drink either alcohol or milk, and most taverns did not offer much else. He had brought a supply of teas from his home, but Caleb did not think they would last long. In addition to that, Caduceus did not eat flesh and seemed genuinely perturbed by the concept of eating dairy or eggs. He was already nigh-unhealthily thin, and the scant meals he was sometimes offered on the road did not seem adequate. Caleb made a mental note to try to advocate more on his behalf at the next meal. While Caduceus did not complain, he also did not seem like the type who ever would.

As he reflected, Caduceus’ eyes met his. Caleb quickly averted his gaze, mentally chiding himself for staring, then closed his book and drained his tankard. When the rim of the cup lowered below the bridge of his nose, he jumped as he saw that Caduceus was most of the way to his table.

“Hey,” Caduceus mumbled. “Mind if I sit for a minute?”

“Not at all, Mister Clay,” said Caleb, determined to be as polite as possible. He sat up a bit straighter and slid the book to one side. “Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Caduceus rumbled, his voice low. “I was wondering if you could talk to me a bit about... language. You see, I haven’t had to speak Common much until recently, and I’m having trouble with some parts. I know that it isn’t your first language, but since you learned it in a more formal setting, maybe you would be the best suited to help me.”

Caleb frowned. In his memory of interactions with the firbolg since they had first met, he had not noticed any glaring errors with the way he spoke. He did have a slow, roundabout way of speaking, but Caleb had figured that was more who he was as a person and not a difficulty with the language.

“What exactly is giving you trouble?”

“Well, the language my family spoke at home was Sylvan,” explained Caduceus. “Are you familiar with it?”

In Sylvan, Caleb replied, _“it is my third language, after Zemnian and Common.”_ Back in Common, “I do not use it often, however. Mostly to speak to Frumpkin, since he is a fey cat.” With a snap, he summoned the familiar to the table. Frumpkin curled up and immediately closed his eyes. Caduceus reached out to pat his fur, his long fingers making the cat look oddly small in comparison.

“Perfect, that’s perfect,” breathed Caduceus. “You’ll know all about this, then. What I’m having trouble with is in Common, if you want to talk about someone who isn’t present, you have to use a word for them sometimes. Instead of their name.”

“A, uh, _Pronomen._ A pronoun,” Caleb supplied. “Like _he,_ or _she.”_

Caduceus looked up from stroking Frumpkin and met Caleb’s gaze. “Exactly — a pronoun,” he said. “I was wondering, how do you know which one to use?”

“Ahh, that is definitely more complicated than in Sylvan,” Caleb said thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the cover of his book. “Yes, in Sylvan you just have the one, _hän._ But it is not too difficult. _He_ is for men, and _she_ is for women.”

Caduceus’ eyes flicked down towards Frumpkin. He seemed nervous, which struck Caleb as out of character. “Hmm, yeah,” he said, fidgeting a bit. “I guess... I kind of know that, on a, uh, academic level. But it’s more the uh, knowing which one to use that I’m having trouble with.” He kept his gaze averted. Caleb could tell that the question brought him some embarrassment.

Caduceus cleared his throat. “When I met all of you, you introduced yourselves and talked about each other, and I just copied how you all addressed each other. But now, we meet so many strangers, and I’ll admit I’m a bit lost. You all seem to just... know, somehow. I don’t really understand it.”

Caleb was taken aback, and wondered how to explain the concept. It was something that he had never before had to put to words. He took a slow breath. “Well...” he breathed, “that is a tough thing to explain. It has to do more with culture than with language. I cannot think of a time that I did not know the difference between men and women.” He took some time to compile his thoughts. Caduceus just waited, looking down at Caleb’s fingers as they drummed along the edge of his book.

“I suppose... one must always make a judgement. When you meet someone, there are things about them that will point one way or the other. Names are traditionally either masculine or feminine — not that you would know that, being an outsider — and often that is enough for one to decide which pronoun to use.” Caleb leaned back in his chair. “But that is sometimes not enough. Then you have to look at the person physically. Long hair is usually more feminine, as are skirts. Men often have facial hair — oh, but not if they have elven heritage — oh, and dwarven women can have facial hair...” Caleb trailed off and laughed. “I am probably confusing you even more,” he chuckled.

“A bit,” admitted Caduceus. “But thanks for trying.”

“I am sorry, my friend,” said Caleb, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I wish I could help, but it is not something I have ever thought about before.”

Caduceus smiled, but it was a sad smile, and his eyes flicked up to meet Caleb’s again. “When you met me, how did you decide?”

It didn’t seem like he was fishing for any particular response, just curious, so Caleb thought back to the day he had met Caduceus in the Blooming Grove. Although Caduceus had introduced himself as ‘Mister Clay,’ Caleb had to admit that he had already made a judgement before the introduction.

“It— it was your voice, I think. I have not met many firbolgs, but your voice was very deep. And you had hair on your chin, like I did.” Caleb scratched at his chin, feeling the scruff there. “But I admit, when you ask me to explain it like this, it makes it apparent just how, err, tenuous… this is.” Caduceus nodded, and touched his own chin.

“I hope we did not assume incorrectly,” said Caleb, “or offend in any way.”

“No, you didn’t offend, Mister Caleb. Thank you for explaining. I can’t say that I really understand it completely, but that did help.”

“I am admittedly not the best person to ask about the subject,” said Caleb, running his hand through his hair nervously. “I have a feeling that Mollymauk would have had some interesting things to say about it. He was... quite the character. Not one for convention, or tradition.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to meet him. You all speak very highly of him.”

When Caleb went to respond, a yawn came over him.

“It is getting late, my friend. We should retire. I am sorry I could not be more helpful tonight, but my interest has been piqued and I will do research on the topic of gender and the fey next time we reach a city. And when we reach Alfield, I can introduce you to someone who may have a unique perspective as well.”

Caduceus stood. “Thank you again, Caleb. It means a lot to me.” He put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder and squeezed.

They each retired to their respective rooms. Caleb inched into bed carefully as to not disturb Nott, then lay abed thinking about Sylvan grammar and wondering how it must have been influenced by fey culture. Eventually, his waking thoughts melded into his dreams, and that night Caleb dreamed of ambiguous and beautiful fey beings.


End file.
